


Looking off on the Horizon

by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)



Series: Above The Rain and Roses [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Chronic Illness, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Post-Break Up, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Season/Series 07, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 11:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15580695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster
Summary: The weight of consequences weighs on Shiro during the Kerberos mission training.  Sam notices and they have a talk.





	Looking off on the Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR SEASON 7.

Anger is a familiar friend.

It burns through Shiro's veins, echoes with every heartbeat, manifests in the ache of his jaw as he grinds his teeth.  His arms are tense, the way the doctors like to warn him against. It prevents the cuff from doing its job, he's been told.  The electrical signals get lost when he already has his wrist so tense it can't move any further.

He should care.  Shiro will care later tonight, when he does his wrist exercises to an empty, quiet room.  He'll care when the muscles seize up, when painful sparks trace the tension in his bicep and make a home there.

Right now, Shiro has a mission.

"Contact made with Titan base of operations," Matt recites, with the air of someone who's done this a hundred times.  Because by now they have. The tall chairs of the sims dwarf him, make him look like a proper cadet instead of a grad student.  "Conditions are as calculated."

Commander Holt nods and flicks the switch on the side of his chair to tighten his seat belt.  Matt follows him. So should Shiro, but when he unlocks his fingers from the wheel, he'll feel the ache.  Not the same one as, during his flare ups, not the one he dreads, but close enough that he wants to put it off.

"Alright, prepare for the maneuver.  Captain Shirogane, do you have your vector?"  Commander Holt turns to Shiro, brows up. Despite the safety of the sim, and despite how many times they've done this, there's a serious set to his jaw.

Probably because they have an audience, today.  

It's hard to forget that just outside the walls of this simulation is a horde of commanders, watching and judging every move.

Shiro nods, returning his eyes to his screen.  "Yes, Sir. Prepared to enter the gravity at your command."

"Do it."

It's silly to miss the  _ 'make it so'  _ that Sam only uses during informal training.  A little change, nothing important, but it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Shiro does.  He fires the left thrusters, just for half a second, enough to tilt their craft to the right, and then he sends them forward.  There is a shudder and a lurch as the gravity of Jupiter continues to pull the ship inward while they enter Europa's pull on the other side.  Both forces tug, threatening to shake them apart if they stay for too long.

The key is not to wait.

Shiro presses forward, giving more power to the engines.  He sees Matt's head duck down, probably keeping track of their fuel usage.

Their ship rattles again, harder this time.

Commander Holt tilts his head, lips curling down.  "How are we doing, Captain?"

Each sim is just a little different, has just enough variation that they can never get into a dangerous, thoughtless habit that could kill them in space.  Today's variable is in time difference - they've arrived at Jupiter two days later, and so the space they need to thread between Europa and Jupiter is smaller.  The gravity is the strongest they've ever done in this sim, as close to the worst case scenario as they've come.

Shiro isn't going to fail here.  So he gives it just a fraction more power, which makes Matt's brows jump to his hairline.

"We're still good, Commander.  Just some resistance." Shiro narrows his eyes and leans forward.  "Brace yourselves, we're exiting no-"

They break free from the far edge of Europa's gravity with more force than a textbook exit.  The whole sim rocks and jolts sickeningly as Shiro fights to keep control. Commander Holt and Matt both hold on, clutching their seats and clenching their jaws to keep from biting their tongues.

Shiro had never locked his seat belt.  His head jolts painfully on his neck, and he feels his spine creak with the force of the shaking.  Shiro locks his legs around the base of his seat and braces himself against the wheel. It's impossible to focus on his screen when he's moving around so much, but Shiro knows this craft like the back of his hand.

Within a minute, he has the ship back to normal.

Even so, Shiro's teeth grind even harder as his head throbs in time with his heartbeat.  He doesn't know if the brass outside could tell how loose he was in his chair, but Commander Holt probably could.  It was a careless, rookie mistake to forget it, the kind he'd tell off Keith for. He could easily have injured his neck.  That's stupid on Earth, but suicidally dangerous in space. On the Kerberos mission he'll be the only pilot, and if he's unable to do his job, the whole thing is dead in the water.   _ They're _ dead in the water.

Which is exactly why Iverson and his ilk didn't want Shiro to go.

His stomach churns, like the acid inside is eating its way up his throat until he can taste bile and frustration.

"Successfully through," Commander Holt reports.  His face and voice are calm, but his knuckles are white around his armrests.  "How are our fuel levels, Cadet Holt?"

Matt blinks, clearly off-putt by his father calling him his proper title and last name.  "Well within acceptable levels," he says, rather than read the percentage off.

Which means 'more than Shiro should have used for this bit, but I'm not going to say that when people are listening.'

Shiro's arms stay tense and strained, still locked on the controls.

"Well done, boys."  Commander Holt taps on the console until the view of Jupiter shuts off.  The lights in the sim come back on as the door lowers down. As he gets up, he puts his hand on Shiro's shoulder, clapping firmly.  "Let's go debrief."

Now that Shiro had no choice, he slowly releases his grip on the controls, one finger at a time.  His biceps burn, and he can feel the aching strain in each joint of each finger. Shiro works his hands, rolling his wrists in practiced exercises, but the pain is from strain, not degradation. 

Snapping off a salute, Matt stands and rolls his shoulders.  "Yes, sir," he says, overly professional to reflect Commander Holt's earlier form of address.  "Then we've earned a nice, relaxing weekend."

A smile curls over Commander Holt's lips.  "That's optimistic."

"The mission isn't for months, and we're not scheduled for anything else."  Matt sets his jaw, like he can make sure they have a Saturday off by sheer force of will.  "I haven't seen Mom and Katie for weeks. So, yeah, I'm hopeful."

Well, he can hope for a day off.  Shiro would rather not. The busy schedule has been nice, neatly taking up his days with enough activity to exhaust him.  Any time between is dedicated to a few personal projects, like keeping an eye on Keith or fixing up that old hoverbike. It helps to be able to crash in bed and fall asleep immediately.  It doesn't give Shiro time to dwell on the lack of breathing next to him.

Commander Holt's eyes darken as he sighs.  "We'll be where we need to be for training.  But I'm sure they remember it's been a while since we had a day off."  Then he squeezes Shiro's shoulder tighter. "Stick around after the briefing, Captain.  I'd like to talk to you."

There it is.

Nodding, Shiro swallows hard.  "Of course, Sir."

This is the point where he gets chewed out, reminded that he's only here because Commander Holt keeps putting his neck on the line.  Shiro doesn't even know  _ why. _  There doesn't seem to be any gain to it.  All it does is use up Holt's influence in the Garrison.  He could have any pilot he wants for this mission, including ones with decades more experience (and a clean bill of health).

Yet, Sam Holt chose him.

Shiro's thankful.  He's so stupidly, achingly thankful.  He'll do just about anything to stay on board, to get this opportunity, to reach out the farthest anyone ever has.  He has this one, single shot, and he refuses to squander it.

He just hopes whatever payment is coming is something he can give.

For now, they all have other places to be.  Specifically, outside, having each and every little movement hyper-analyzed and critiqued.

Shiro stills his hands.  No one outside needs to know that his arms are hurting, even if it's not from what they'd think.  It's better that they don't think about it at all.

Time to face the music.

***

The briefing goes about how Shiro expects.

They go over each stage of the simulation at least three times.  They question Shiro on his timing, on his fuel consumption, on his vector choice.  There's no outright criticism, though he's reminded several times that the fuel needs to last to Kerberos  _ and back, _ as if he's forgotten.

At least this time, most of the focus is on Shiro.  Part of that is expected, because this simulation was about piloting, not about samples or communication.  There's only so much they can go over with Matt, when his only job was to keep up contact with Titan. 

All that would be fine, except it puts Shiro on edge.  He can't tell if the focus is because Shiro needs to be ready, or they're looking for a mistake large enough to justify pulling him.  They can't tell Sam to take back his choices, not when Shiro and Matt are both more than qualified. But they can veto Shiro if training looks like he's going to compromise the mission.  It's impossible to compare if they're being harder on Shiro than they would for someone else. He suspects they are, but there's never anything he can point to, no comment that's out of line.

Shiro can only swallow back the bitter resentment and outdo every expectation they have for him.

Moments like these are what Shiro thinks of when Keith gives him that dark look and asks why he keeps trying to help.  Scrappy and mad, Keith has the same fire that Shiro feels smoldering in his chest. He's going to do what he wants so well that no one else can fight him over it.

At least Keith doesn't have a time limit.  Or, he won't if he learns to control his temper and not give other cadets black eyes.

As the brass finally file out, Commander Holt nods to Matt.  "Go ahead and crash for the evening. It's too late to head out tonight, but we'll leave bright and early tomorrow."

Predictably, Matt groans and drops his head over the back of the chair.  "By bright and early, what do you mean?"

"0700."

Matt stills, his brows up.  "Seven?" He repeats incredulously.  "Not-" Then he pops up and shoots his father a beaming smile.  Apparently he's decided not to argue his good fortune, that 'early' doesn't mean 5 AM.  "Absolutely. I'll see you then. Later, Shirogane." With a quick wave, he gathers his things and practically bolts out the door.

Brows up, Shiro considers Commander Holt.  "Why so late?"

"I suspect I might be up late tonight.  I'd rather not drive home on less sleep than I could be getting."  Commander Holt leans against the side of the table, arms crossed as he considers Shiro.  "What do you need, Captain?"

The question is so unexpectedly worded that Shiro can only stare.  "Sir?"

One brow goes up.  "You've been on edge lately.  Normally I'd let you be, but right now we can't afford to let things build up, not when there's so much scrutiny around this mission and your position on it.  I didn't fight to get you just to let you flounder later. So what do you need?"

Shiro swallows hard, barely able to meet Commander Holt's eyes.  "I'm fine, Sir. If you've had a problem with my performance-"

Holding up a hand, Commander Holt stares Shiro down.  "Enough. I'm not trying to catch you in a lie or judge you.  I'm saying you need some kind of an outlet. Someone to talk to, maybe.  A home comfort from off base. A paintball gun and an hour with a target."  From the specific example and the quirk of his lips, that was Commander Holt's preference.  "I don't doubt you can handle the mission or the training. I wouldn't let you anywhere near that pilot seat if I thought otherwise, not with my son in the ship.  But there's nothing wrong with accepting a little help when you need it. So what do you need, Shiro?"

It would have been easy to keep lying.  Shiro had long since perfected his professional-innocence face and voice.  If pushed, Shiro could convince Commander Holt nothing was wrong.

But his jaw aches from grinding his teeth, and his arms throb from released tension, even now.

What does Shiro need? 

So many things.  Most of which no one could provide.

But Commander Holt can give him at least one.

"Out," Shiro finally admits, the word crawling up from his chest.  "Just out. Away from here. Somewhere I can see the stars."

Commander Holt nods, eyes shining with empathy.  "Okay. Let's go."

"Sir?"

"You want to go?  Then let's go." Commander Holt gestures for Shiro to get up and follow, then digs out a key from his pocket.  "We'll go to the garage and get a pair of bikes, then head out somewhere where there’s less light pollution. We can hit the town first, get something to eat that isn't made on base.  Maybe a six pack, if that's something you're comfortable with." He pauses, one brow up. "Unless you were thinking of going with someone else. But it seems like you could use some company today."

This isn't what Shiro meant at all.  He'd assumed that, at best, Commander Holt would turn the other cheek if Shiro snuck out for the night.  It wasn't like most of the seniors didn't do it on the weekends, and the Commanders and teachers all pretended to be blind to it.  An officer was expected to obey the rules better, or at least more visibly. That Commander Holt would want to come along, much less get a six pack with him, was baffling.

It wasn't bad, though.  It wouldn’t be the first time Shiro had gotten drinks with an older officer, usually while trying to make a good impression.  He technically hadn't with Holt before, though he'd had a glass of wine the time he'd been invited to his family home for dinner.  That had been a strange evening, though spending an hour playing fetch with the family dog had more than made up for the awkwardness.

Was there someone else that Shiro would rather bring?  There were really only two people Shiro spent any kind of social time with.  One was out of the picture, and the other... well, Shiro snuck out with him often enough.

Frankly, the offer was curious enough that Shiro wants to know where it would go.  And it wasn't like he had anything better to do. The alternative was to go back to his quarters and read or watch a movie, and he didn't really want to be there right now.

"Alright."  Shiro replies, pushing himself up to his feet.  "I can go sign out the bikes for us."

Commander Holt's lips quirk up.  "It's taken care of," he says, far too airy to be anything other than a lie.

....Huh.  Apparently Holt wants to get up to a little trouble today.  As a commander he has access to the hoverbikes or cars available in the garage, and he has the clout that no one will question him borrowing them.  That he isn't bothering is a signal.

This is off the books.

Interesting.

"Then I guess we can head out, then."  Shiro's lips curl up. It’s a relatively minor transgression, but it’s a thrill anyway.  Over the past few weeks, Shiro has been terrified that any little mistake could get him pulled.  Yet here’s Commander Holt, encouraging him to flaunt the rules completely.

Smiling back, Holt claps him on the back.  "Yes or no to the six pack?"

Why not?  

"If you're paying."

"Atta boy."

***

Within the hour, the pair of them get out, go to town, and hit the first gas station they find for beer.  That actually causes a minor set-back, because Shiro has an unfortunate taste for the cheapest beer available.  When he makes a beeline to grab it, Commander Holt physically yanks it out of Shiro's hands and puts it back. 

"I'm too old to waste my time on that kind of swill," he says.  "Let's get something that tastes like actual beer, not stale water."

Shiro frowns at his hands, and then at the display.  "All due respect, Sir, but it's gas station beer. Nothing here tastes good."

"At least better than  _ that." _

But Holt is the one paying, and the one doing him a favor.  So Shiro bites back further protests and lets him pick whatever makes him happy.  In the end, it's not the taste or the label that matter anyway, just the alcohol content.  Just having something in his hands to sip and play with is enough.

With that, they head out and drive out further into the desert.  Commander Holt hangs back, letting Shiro lead through the familiar winding trails.  Despite not being a pilot, he keeps up admirably during the rockier portions, and Shiro is careful to take the long way around, rather than make Holt cliff dive.  It doesn't take long for the lights on the horizon to fade, and for more stars to come out, stretching over the dark dome of the sky. Between the rumble of the engines and the nocturnal wildlife, it's not really quiet out, but it's peaceful.

It's enough.

Shiro stops against a rocky outcrop and climbs off his bike, then takes a deep breath.  Now that the sun has been down for hours, the desert air is chilled. It's bracing after the heat of the day, or the stuffy conditions of the sims.

Before the Garrison, Shiro had never lived anywhere with much wildlife.  He'd gone from one city to another without much interest in what was between.  Camping had never appealed to him, and the idea of living out in the wilderness had seemed unfathomably boring.

But on nights like this, especially after hearing Keith talk about evenings under the stars with his father, Shiro gets it now.  He has a greater appreciation for the natural beauty around him, for the easy stillness it provides. The break seems welcome, relaxing.  If it went on for longer than a day, Shiro would probably get restless. But tonight it's what he needs.

Somehow, Shiro only seems to appreciate things properly when he's about to leave them.

The bitter taste floods his mouth again.

As he turns around, Holt hands out one of the cans of beer.  It's warm to the touch from resting on the bikes, but Shiro can't bring himself to care.  The familiar crack of aluminum and hiss of released pressure are familiar comforts.

It also tastes a lot better than what Shiro's used to, but he's not about to admit that part.

"It's gorgeous out here," Commander Holt says.  He tilts his head back to take in the full expanse above them, tracing the waving river of the Milky Way.  "Did you pick this spot in particular?"

Shiro shakes his head.  "No. I know the area, at least.  It just felt like the right place to stop.  Too much farther and we'd spend the whole night driving back instead of sitting out here."

Humming his understanding, Holt sits down next to his bike, not seeming to care that the red dirt is going to be painfully obvious on his uniform.  He sips contentedly, without any need to talk.

Which is nice.  On another day, Shiro would appreciate that.  Part of him still does. He's not the sort to talk constantly.  It’s comforting to know he'll be sharing a tiny ship with at least one other person who knows the value of quiet. 

But today, Shiro wants to know what Holt's game is.

He waits, the silence stretching out between them.  The wind blows through the rocks, shaking the sparse vegetation and sending up small clouds of dust.

Still nothing.

Simple small talk rests heavily on Shiro's tongue.  He knows how to make conversation. He should ask what Matt and Commander Holt plan to do on their (possible) day off.  He should ask after Dr. Holt, and how her research paper is going, or ask if his daughter is excited to start high school next year.  He could bring up any of the dozens of fellow officers they both know, the kind of gossip that every military base trades in like a prison trades cigarettes.

But Shiro doesn't want to talk about any of that.  He wants to understand Commander Holt, why the man volunteered for this little trip, what he thinks is going to happen out here.  Why he came out in the dead of night when he has to drive first thing in the morning.

He wants to know what Commander Holt wants with Shiro in general.

"Was it pity?"

Holt pauses mid-sip and looks over.  "Pity? This?" He gestures to the bikes and then his can of beer.  "No, this isn't pity. This is making sure my pilot doesn't blow a stress fuse before we even make it off the ground.  That's part of being a good leader. It's not just about making sure you're physically fit. It's making sure you're  _ well." _

Part of Shiro tucks that information away, greedy for any hint of what it means to be a commander.  He  _ wants _ to lead.  Shiro wants the respect, wants the admiration, but above all wants to see the good he could do in the world.  If he just had the chance, he could make a difference. He could take a team and make them a well-oiled machine, more than the sum of their parts.

At least, he hopes he could.

But he's probably never going to get the chance.  

The bitter reality overwhelms the taste of the beer.  

Three years. That's the best guess anyone has for him.  It might be a little more, and it could well be less. After that, he'll be lucky if he can man a desk for long.

Shiro's hands tighten around the can, denting the cheap aluminum.

"I mean for Kerberos.  Did you pick me out of pity?"

This time, Holt puts down his beer altogether.  He folds his hands over his stomach, still looking up at the sky rather than at Shiro.  "Do you really think that?"

The calm tone is what sparks a fire in Shiro's blood.  The can crushes fully in his grasp, beer fizzling out the top and splashing heavily to the dry ground.  "I don't know. I know I'm good enough for this. I know I've done everything right, but that's not what everyone else sees when they look at my records.  What makes you different?" 

What made Sam Holt understand better than Adam?

Finally, Holt looks over, both brows up.  His calm make Shiro's blood pound. It's like this is just another question to him, just another mission.  Not everything. 

"This is why,” Holt says.

Looking around the cold, empty desert, Shiro shakes his head.  "This what?"

"You.  Right now."  Holt drains the rest of his beer, then gestures to Shiro with the can.  “Because you're asking me that. Because you want this. Because every single time someone's told you that what you want isn't possible, you prove them wrong.  I like that."

It's such a simple answer, but it doesn't make sense.  Shiro knows every word individually, but chained together they're something he doesn't understand.  He shakes his head, baffled.

Holt sighs and puts his can down in the dust.  "Here's the way I think of it. First of all, it's pure cost benefit analysis.  The Garrison invested in you, and you have talent and drive. It's a waste not to use you to your full potential while we still have it.  You want to go as far as you can, and you're willing to give up the next several years of your life in pursuit of it. If you're going to give that time and effort, it makes no sense to turn it down just because we can't get more later."

The logic is clear, the reasoning strong.  But the cold calculation stills Shiro, catching in his chest like the chilled air around them.  It's not that he disagrees with the sentiment, but he never expected to hear it from Sam Holt's mouth.  He's so... Dad-like. Brilliant, yes, absolutely, and perfectly capable of putting in the work. But he likes his shoulder pats and bad jokes, too.  It's hard to reconcile that softness with the sharp calculation he's displaying now.

But then again, Holt is career military.  He wouldn't be a commander on this mission without being at least a little cut-throat, and he wouldn't be able to pull 'do it my way or I walk' ploys if he didn't know exactly his own worth.

"Besides that, I know that my son is on that ship."  Holt continues on, not reacting at all to Shiro's surprise.  "The person I want behind the wheel is someone who can handle it when things go wrong.  Plenty of others don't think that's you. They see the muscle issues and see it as a cause of problems.  But I think the opposite. You looked at the odds and said 'fuck you, I'll beat that'. You saw a clock counting down and said 'I'll race you.'  That's not something you teach a person. That's not something you can look at a report and see. That's something you prove you have in you when things go wrong.  And you have."

Slowly, Shiro sinks down to the ground, sitting with his back to his own hoverbike.  He stares down at his hand, watching the droplets of beer run down the length of his arm.  The throb from earlier still lingers in his muscles. Even with his exercises and cuff, he's going to be feeling it tomorrow.

"You think if something goes wrong on the way to Kerberos, I can fix it."  Shiro finally says. "That's why?"

Holt snorts.  "If something goes wrong in that ship, I don't know that any of us can fix it.  But I know you won't give up, and that's enough for me."

Silence hangs again.  Shiro stares out unseeing at the peaks of the rocky formations ahead of them, only visible as dark shadows cutting through the horizon.

It wasn't pity.  Holt hadn't picked Shiro because he felt sorry for him.  If anything, it was because he thinks Shiro's disease had given him an advantage.  Some determination or trait that Holt wants in a pilot.

Unbidden, a burn starts behind Shiro's eyes.

He ducks his head, blinking quickly to quell the reaction.  He's not about to start sniffling over this. Even if Shiro liked crying, he's not going to do it in front of his mission commander.

It's just nice to hear someone say they see in Shiro what he wants to believe of himself.  He's fought so long and hard to make anyone see he has qualities that are worth more than his cost-benefit analysis.  His sim scores and perfect tests were a way of evening the playing field.

Someone had noticed.  Someone saw. And he was the exact right person to give Shiro a shot.

"Thank you, Sir," Shiro says.  He clears his throat, trying to get rid of the rough, scratchy quality.

Holt laughs.  "No need to thank me.  And out here? Cut the 'sir' stuff.  It's Sam."

A smile tugs at the corner of Shiro's mouth.  "Thank you, Sam." He pauses. "That sounds weird."

"Get used to it."  Hol- Sam tugs another beer out from the case, then offers it to Shiro.  "You want another?"

Shiro shakes his head.  "No, there's still more in this one.  No sense wasting it." He brings the can to his mouth, right where the aluminum buckled under his grip.  He finds where beer is slowly dripping out and sucks from the tiny hole.

Laughing, Sam shakes his head.  "Suit yourself." He pops the top of the new can and sips from it instead.  "You want to know the other reason why?"

Shiro pauses, his mouth full of bitter foam.  "Mmhmm," he manages as he swallows.

"Because despite how hard you work, you're not stupid ambitious."  Sam looks over, his brows up fondly. "You remember when I brought you home a few months ago?"

Shiro nods slowly.  "For dinner, yes. It was nice of you.  In hindsight, I should have realized it was an interview, of a sort."  He'd only said yes because Sam had insisted, to the point that saying no would be rude.  

That earns him a grin. "Yes, you really should have.  But I'm glad you didn't. You would have been on your best behavior."  Sam's eyes grow distant, looking past Shiro and into his memories. "You kept trying to feed our dog under the table.  I think Baebae got half of your chicken that night. You kept up the conversation well, and you were subtle, but I know the sound of my dog eating something he shouldn't be.  Lord knows I've heard it enough."

Color blooms over Shiro's cheeks.  "I shouldn't have, I know. In my defense, you have a very sweet dog."

"Yes, I do."  Sam outright grins.  "And children who aren't as smart as they think they are.  They're not getting things past me yet." He tapped at his temple, expression sly.  

Shiro smiles back, honestly warmed by Sam's open fondness.  "I don't understand what that has to do with the job."

"You're ambitious," Sam says simply.  "Very much so. Understandably, even. I know the type.  You blaze through everything, making the right connections, speaking to the right people, pushing as far as you can go without looking like a brown noser.  But some people like that have more plans than sense. What matters is the mission, or the rank, or the medals. But you? You were in the house of a Commander, invited for unknown reasons, and you were more interested in sneaking my dog chicken because he made big eyes at you."

This time, Shiro ducks his head and smiles, letting the approval wash over him.  It wasn't anything he doesn't know about himself, after all. He knows he can be too intense, too focused, but it's nice to know that it was the heart in between that had helped him, not his interviewing skills.

"So your dog picked your pilot?"

Sam laughs, thumping his head back against the bike.  "Yes. Absolutely. As it should be."

"Really, that'd be the best system."  Shiro pauses, then groans. "Well, not fair to the people allergic to pet dander, I guess.  Damn, never mind."

"Poodles," Sam says.  "They're hypoallergenic.  Or those hairless cats, for people with phobias."

Nodding, Shiro takes another sip of the beer.  "Perfect. Problem solved. All assignments now go out to people who give the best ear scratches, as the universe intended."

The silence settles in again, this time more comfortable.  Shiro drains the rest of his can, then tosses it onto the ground between them.  He'll pick it up before they leave, and it's not like they thought ahead and brought a bag to keep them in.  Sam tosses him another, which Shiro catches out of the air. When he opens it, it bubbles over his hand. "Shit."

"At this point, I think there's more beer on the ground around you then in your stomach, son."

Shiro grumbles back darkly, even as he sucks the sticky old beer off his hand.  Like he said before, no sense wasting any. "Speaking of that last visit, how did Dr. Holt's presentation go?"

Immediately, Sam's eyes light up.  "Brilliant as always. It's still in the review process for a grant, but she's hopeful.  We'll see." He crumples up his now drained can. "It's been a while since she went this deep in a project.  I spent so much time up in space that she's put aside so many opportunities for in depth research. Matt could help watch Katie some of the time, but now he'll be gone too.  My daughter's a bit young to be by herself still, much as she'd disagree. Most likely she'd be fine, but there's always the possibility we'll come home to a crater where the house used to be."

From the stories Matt and Sam tell, Shiro believes it.  "I'm sorry Dr. Holt had to put research on hold. That has to be hard for you both."

"It is."  Sam spins the can in his fingers, gaze distant again.  "It's always hard on the person staying behind, of course.  It's never easy to be a military spouse, be it in combat or out in space.  But she understands. She wants to see the results of these ice samples just as much as the rest of us do."

Stomach dropping, Shiro swallows hard.  "It's asking a lot, to expect someone to stay."

The raw element of his voice draws Sam's attention.  He looks over and stills the can in his hand. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Shiro looks away again, picking back up his beer.  "Not much to talk about."

"Shiro, I mean no disrespect, but you've been at the edge of your temper for weeks, now."

Of course Sam knows all about it already.  A pair of officers being in a relationship is always worthy of gossip.  A break-up even more so, especially of a well established pair. Shiro had been with Adam since well before they graduated.  He doesn't think Adam went around talking about it, but the move-out alone had to be noticed. And apparently it had been obvious.

Shiro wonders if everyone around Adam knows too.  He wouldn't know. By mutual, unspoken agreement, they've avoided each other's spaces.  Adam keeps to their circle of friends, and Shiro... hasn't.

"What's there to say?" Shiro asks, voice darkening as he closes his eyes.  "He didn't want me to go. I wanted to go. That was that."

Sam stays silent, clearly waiting.

Such a stupid, obvious ploy shouldn't work, but it does.  Shiro shoves himself to his feet, shoulders straight and tense.  In the weeks since breaking up, Shiro hasn't told anyone but Keith about the split, and even that was vague.  If anyone knows the story, they know it from Adam's side. Not from Shiro's. Shiro hadn't  _ wanted _ to give his side, or at least he hadn't thought so.  But now it spews out like vomit.

"He knows better than anyone what I can do.  He knows I can do it. It's not just about not coming back.  But between training, going there, getting the samples, coming back, and quarantine?  By the time I come back, who knows how much good time I'll have left in me. A year. Months.  Maybe weeks. Not enough time to make everything else after worth it." Shiro takes a deep, ragged breath.  Then he grips the can of beer hard and throws it as far as he can into the darkness. It sails out of sight, and he hears it impact the dirt with an unsatisfying, dull thump.

Sam still says nothing.

Taking a ragged breath, Shiro clenches his fists by his side.  Cold air fills him, but it does nothing to soothe the burning feeling in his throat or behind his eyes.  "It was him or the mission. And I picked the mission, so he left. That's it. Nothing else to say." 

There was a shift behind him, but Sam doesn't stand up.  Instead he just sighs. "I'm sorry to hear that. You two seemed good together.  Great flight partners, at least. But there's nothing wrong with breaking up over different priorities.  It's a problem in a lot of relationships, not just one with your unique circumstances."

"Are we selfish?" Shiro asks.  The fight goes out of him, leaving him raw and tired.  "Who are either of us to ask someone to wait? Why are we leaving people we love behind?"

Sam is silent.  Then he slumps. "We leave them because to learn, someone has to go out there and find out more.  We leave because that's who we are, and the unknown calls to us. Maybe that's selfish, yes. But to the right person?  The waiting is worth it. It's so hard, but we work through it, just like any relationship."

"I don't have time to find the right person."  Shiro swallows hard. "Adam was... it's like your logic before.  Cold. Cost-benefit analysis. But Adam was willing to be there for the rest.  We talked about it, and he knows what will happen when my body starts to give out.  He said he was going to stay with me. We were going to get married.” 

Sam stills, but he doesn’t speak.  He just lets Shiro keep going.

The ache in Shiro's eyes gets stronger.  He reaches up and scrubs under his eyes. "Then again, he wasn't willing to stay around for this mission.  Would he have for the worst of it? And now that he's gone... by the time I get back, it's too late. How do you find someone willing to stick by during the hard times, if you don't have enough time to go out and meet someone?  Is a year of knowing someone enough to ask them to watch me..." His voice cracks and breaks.

This time, Sam does stand.  His boots crunch through the dirt, and then a hand settles between Shiro's shoulder blades.  "You don't know how much time you have after the mission. And just because you begin to decline doesn't mean you can't find someone who will love you.  Besides, you don't necessarily need someone new. Maybe it's not the same, but there are people now who will stick by you."

Shiro's eyes squeeze tightly shut against the threatening moisture.  "I can't know that."

"You can't see the future, no.  But if someone is worth loving, they're worth trusting."  Sam sighs and rubs his palm in slow circles. "Not everyone will leave you.  I promise you, Shiro."

"They might!"  Shiro finally turns to look at him, his eyes bright and hands shaking.  "You can't promise that. No one can. People don't stay. Even when they mean to, even when they really want to, sometimes they don't stay."

Unbidden, the memory of his grandfather's grave bubbles to the surface.  He'd gotten sick while Shiro had been at the Garrison, and he'd told Shiro it wasn't serious.  To stay where he was and take his tests and bring home good grades that semester.

He'd been gone before the end of finals.

Shiro hadn't been there.

"I can do this," Shiro says, quieter than earlier.  "I know I can. But is it worth it? Is it worth losing Adam, or anyone else waiting for me on Earth?  Is it worth putting you and Matt at risk? You have a family. What if...?"

Sam raises his chin and meets Shiro's gaze directly.  "I'm going to tell you exactly what I tell my kids. Fears are a rational reaction to the unknown.  They can even help keep you in check. But if you get too worried about what could go wrong, you might miss a chance to do something great."  He grips Shiro's arm tightly enough to bruise. "Is this worth it to you?"

"Yes," Shiro breathes, and despite everything there's no real doubt.  He wouldn't be here, risking absolutely everything, if it wasn't worth it.  If it took Adam, if it took his remaining years, if it took his life, it was worth it to try.

"Then let's go to Kerberos."  Sam firmly cups the side of Shiro's face, his fingers warm and slightly wet with condensation.  "Let's do something great. Together."

A fragile, jagged smile grows over Shiro's face.  His whole expression crumples as he nods. "Yes." He slumps forward just as Sam pulls him in, and his forehead winds up on Sam's shoulder.  "Thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for."  Sam clutches him tight, sturdy despite his wiry build.  "You won't be alone, Shiro. I can promise you that. There will be people there for you.  Maybe we're not Adam, but there are people who care for you. Not everyone you shove away will let themselves be pushed."

Shiro wishes Adam hadn't.

He misses Adam so much.  He hates his empty quarters, hates the drawers that have no clothes, the half of the closet that hasn't filled back out yet.  He hates the space on his shelves for silver age sci-fi, no longer crowding his fantasy sets. He hates the ring on his sink where a toothbrush and cup used to sit, hates the left side of his too-big bed.  Hates how fucking quiet the room is when he wakes up alone.

Shiro hates that it's worth it.  If he was a different person, less obsessive, less driven, then he could walk away from this mission.  He could say he did enough and go back to Adam. Maybe then he could swallow back his objections and apologize, and settle in for years of contentment until the inevitable conclusion.

Part of him suspects Adam is just waiting for him to give in.  That this is some sort of test, just like Shiro's stubborn pushing had been.  Adam is just waiting for Shiro to crack and come to him, begging for a second chance.

But it's not going to happen.  Not for either of them. Shiro is exactly who he’s always been, and he's not sorry.  If he was anyone else, he wouldn't be the person Adam fell for in the first place.

Shiro is going to go to Pluto.  He's going to miss Adam and hate his absence, but he's going to fly.  He's going to be great. He's going to brush the edge of the solar system and know he's the first human to do so.

Curling against Sam, Shiro doesn't cry.  He just breathes and lets himself be held up for a moment.

He's not alone.  Not in this moment, and maybe not later, either.

Shiro is going to grab his future with both hands, for as long as he's able to grip.  He's never let the cruel whims of the universe stop him before, and today is not the day he starts.

He's going to go down fighting, each and every step of the way.

Because he has a team.  And as Sam had said, on that very first day they'd all accepted the mission, a team is family.

Shiro is not alone.


End file.
